


My Rock, My Strength, My Friend

by mysterixn



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (I finally get to use my favorite tag), M/M, Porn with Feelings, Relationship Study, a bit of a character study, not explicit, very light porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 07:58:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterixn/pseuds/mysterixn
Summary: Steve's life with Bucky after the events of Civil War. Very emotion-centered.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched all three captain america movies, got emotional, and had to write this. Inspired by nothing in particular.
> 
> This has a lot of feelings in it, so I hope you're prepared.
> 
> Not beta edited, written in approximately an hour. Enjoy

The first time Steve and Bucky had make-up sex, it was after the Avengers fell; after Siberia; after Tony’s anger and Steve’s defensiveness and the breakup of everything that held them together; after Steve had made up his mind and let Tony know that of course he could call on them whenever they were needed, because, really, Steve had loved his job in the Avengers, and couldn’t leave Tony to handle it all on his own; after Steve and Bucky had gone to live by themselves, in a small, abandoned house in Oregon, where only gray skies and the crashing ocean accompanied them and their grief, their guilt… everything.

It wasn’t the sweetest time. Steve was still a bit struck by the fact that Bucky had done terrible things, despite knowing it wasn’t ever his fault, and Bucky… well, Bucky needed an outlet. There were bruises; ones that, on normal people, would fade after weeks, but disappeared after a few hours from their enhanced bodies. Bucky particularly liked to leave bite marks: on Steve’s shoulder, his inner thigh, his arm. It was a clash of teeth when kissing, a harder grip than necessary on a hip, metal fingers tugging on short, blond hair decisively.

There was only one time where Bucky submitted. He let himself be pulled, tugged into position so that Steve could push into him because they both knew, subconsciously, that they couldn’t afford anger here, couldn’t afford to actually, truly hurt the other. They were too important in the others’ mind. But as soon as Steve was situated, it was back to the push-pull, give-and-take of the past hour. It was sweat shining in the low light, and the bed creaking because it really wasn’t cut out for this kind of activity, and scratch marks from metal and flesh fingers alike.

It was perfect for them. Just for that one time.

The second time, it was a few months after they’d settled in, when Bucky had stopped getting panic attacks so frequently, and Steve had stopped blaming Tony for everything that had happened. This time, it was sweet; it was the “my best friend since forever is back, is actually, truly back, oh god I missed him and  _ I love you _ ” variety. It was more caressing than gripping, more making love and less fucking. To Steve, it brought back memories of them as young boys, figuring things out for themselves and laughing and loving it. It was a special time. To Bucky, it was everything he’d needed since being broken.

They both cried a few times that night. Not out of sadness, but out of the joy of knowing that they’d survived through decades together, fought a war on the same side, experienced tragedy, had woken up knowing everyone they loved was gone — and found one still alive. Still whole. Still able to love and walk and fight just like old times.

It was perfect for them. And they knew they'd do it again.

Of course, they both had their days. Bucky, in particular. There were some days where he'd retreat into himself — shut himself and his threatening thoughts off from everyone. From Steve. 

On these days, Steve would go out and run a few miles to the nearest frozen yogurt store, and get what he knew was Bucky's favorite: strawberry, with as much sugar as possible piled on top. He'd get one for himself, too, but it didn't matter quite as much as the one for Bucky. Most days, he'd get the same as what he bought for Bucky. And then he'd run home (really, it was more of a light jog, nothing much), and softly interrupt Bucky and his wild thoughts. He'd give the frozen yogurt to Bucky, who was generally huddled in his blankets, and say something like, “Sorry I didn't get ice cream, Buck. Gotta watch the figure, you know?”

When that failed to get Bucky to crack a smile (which happened occasionally), then Steve would drag him out to behind the house, and they'd fight. Neither of them pulled their punches — Steve knew he couldn't, anyway. Not against Bucky. He would hate it if Steve held back for his sake.

So they'd fight. Sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes much longer, each pushing each other to the limit and helping get the restlessness out; because, in all honesty, they were both restless. With them out of the Avengers, with no intel on what terrible things were happening, no civilians to save or bad guys to outrun, they needed an outlet. So they used the best (and safest) one they knew. They were the least likely to be critically injured by the other, after all.

And then there were Steve's days. Most of the time he'd be thinking about Peggy, and would regret all the time he'd missed with her despite the fact that it wasn't his fault. Sometimes, it'd be the war. Hydra. The Red Skull. Memories he'd rather forget. He'd try shaking himself out of it, but most of the time Bucky would figure it out first, and suggest they go impress the ladies at the nearest gym. They  _ were _ super-soldiers, after all.

Steve hadn't yet agreed to that plan, but it never failed to make him smile, and Bucky would grin back, and Steve would feel a little bit better, because at least he had Bucky.

They had each other. And that was enough for him.


End file.
